


the world is my oyster soup

by gilligankane



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: AU, Chopped, F/F, Gen, does anyone want this? i want this. do you?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 05:24:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19900531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilligankane/pseuds/gilligankane
Summary: Something smells like charred onions. There’s a chance Nicole Haught might throw up.“Let’s meet our first contestant!” the host, Wynonna Earp says.





	the world is my oyster soup

**Author's Note:**

> And, like, I got these basket ingredients from Chopped eps but most - if not all - of these monstrosities are the result of my lack of culinary prowess.
> 
> As ever, my beta iamthegaysmurf deserves a round of applause.

Something smells like charred onions. There’s a chance Nicole Haught might throw up.

“Let’s meet our first contestant!” the host, Wynonna Earp says, her voice echoing out of the small speaker set up in the room they’re all waiting in. The PA signals at them to get ready to go. 

Nicole watches Dolls, the first contestant, bounce lightly on the tips of his toes. He rolls his neck with a faint clicking sound and claps his hands together just once, neatly. 

“Good luck,” he throws back over his shoulder as he heads down the hallway, through the frosted glass doors.

Nicole eyes the knife on the glass, the same one on her gray chef’s jacket, and her stomach flops like well-folded berries into pancake batter. 

“Xavier Dolls is a modern fusion chef out of Arizona known for his delicate preparation of fresh seafood, but this guy is 100% beefcake,” Nicole hears Wynonna announce. 

Even if she’s hasn’t gotten a good read on him yet, she can just picture the look on Dolls’s stoic face. He was the only contestant not visibly nervous as they waited in the small room just off the long hall leading to the set. There was something cool and collected about him. Confidence, maybe. Certainty.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” the man next to Nicole mutters under his breath. 

Jeremy Chetri is anything but cool and collected. He’s been hopping around the room for the last 15 minutes, practically pulling his hair out. 

He suddenly stops and goes pale. “I forgot my Optimus Prime mug this morning,” he whispers. “Oh, my  _ god _ .” His eyes widen. “I’m going to lose. I’m going to cut my hand on a can opener. I’m going to overchurn ice cream.  _ No _ . There’s going to be  _ potatoes _ in the basket.”

Nicole isn’t sure why that’s a problem. She has at least a dozen different potato preparations on hand. 

She feels for him, though. He’s got that ‘first time competition’ vibe Nicole sees all the time. She remembers when she was first starting out, getting her name out there through knife skill competitions and barbeque tournaments. Sure, they’re competitors, but she won’t be able to take a moment to focus if he’s going to be like this until he gets called out to the set. She grabs at his shoulders when he passes her for the hundredth time, holding him steady. 

“Listen, Jeremy. You wouldn’t be here if they didn’t think you were talented, okay?” She nods and he mirrors her slowly. “You’re not going to cut yourself on a can opener. And if potatoes are in the basket, you’re going to kill it. Just don’t kill your protein,” she jokes, winking. 

“Oh, no,” Jeremy says quickly. “I’m doing a cold preparation. Maybe carpaccio or a tartar or-“

“Next up, fresh out of Dr. Frankenstein’s culinary lab, is child prodigy Jeremy Chetri,” Wynonna calls.

Jeremy nods nervously, his head bobbing up and down. His feet stick to the floor until Nicole finally sighs. 

“Go, Jeremy.” 

“Right, right.” He clasps his hands together and looks up. “Don’t let me down, gods of liquid nitrogen.”

He disappears down the hallway as his package plays over the speakers. 

Nicole looks at the last contestant. Lenny, or Lou. He’s been sitting in the corner since they were all ushered into the small room, rocking back and forth quietly.  _ A little unhinged _ , she thinks. His jacket is buttoned wrong. 

“Our third contestant is the home cook who is also a reigning champion of  _ Chopped Junior _ , Lonnie-“

Nicole snaps her fingers.  _ Lonnie _ . Not Lenny. She remembers him now. He used to be on the barbecue circuit until he nearly poisoned a chef with undercooked short ribs. His signature side was pickles. 

“Good luck,” she offers as he passes her. He looks like he’s going to need it; he’s already sweating.

It leaves her in the small waiting room by herself, picking at her fingernails. She hums an old Journey song under her breath, and her nervousness ebbs away. She’s ready. She’s  _ been _ ready. She’s been ready since she sent her application in over a year ago, right after she opened her restaurant, The Deputy. She’s sharpened her knives and checked the buttons on her jacket. She’s got her nephew’s good luck note tucked into the front of her apron; she promised him she’d bring the prize money home so his baseball team could get new uniforms for the coming season. 

If she has a little leftover, she’s going to buy a really, really good cappuccino machine.

“And finally, out of Purgatory is the red-Haught Nicole Haught. She doesn’t make her own hot sauce which is, frankly, disappointing,” Wynonna announces. “But she was voted Best Newcomer by the  _ Toronto Sun _ last year.” A PA points towards the hall, and Nicole feels her knee buckle slightly before she finds her footing.

Nicole leaves the hallway and heads toward the set. She can hear herself on the speakers, talking about The Deputy and the portobello mushroom burrito they do on Taco Tuesday. 

_ Why do I think I’m going to win _ ? video-her asks.  _ Because I’ve been waiting my whole life for this. I’ve got the skills and the drive and an awesome poutine recipe. _ She winces; is that really what she sounds like?

The set looms in front of her. They toured it earlier, getting a rough idea of where everything was before shooting. It feels different now. The air is thicker and the lights are brighter. She’s practically blind on her first step past Wynonna, but her station is the closest to the judge’s table, and she finds it after a moment of panic.

The next thing she finds is Waverly Earp’s eyes.

Seeing Waverly Earp in person is nothing like seeing her on TV. Her hair is long and wavy and looks like it would be soft. Nicole forces her hand flat onto her workstation. She smiles at Nicole, her head tipped to the side like it always is when she’s listening to Wynonna talk, and it feels the same as it did the first time Nicole picked up a chef’s knife. Something  _ good _ settles in her stomach like the first bite of a warm tiramisu. 

Nicole thinks she might be in love. 

“The rules are simple,” Wynonna says, pulling Nicole’s attention back. “So don’t fork it up.” 

Nicole blinks, trying to focus. She knows the rules. She’s seen all 524 episodes of  _ Chopped _ . She can recite the rules in her sleep. But something about the stage lights and Jeremy shaking hard enough to make her station vibrate two people over causes her brain to misfire for a few seconds. 

“There are three rounds.” Wynonna counts them on her fingers. “Appetizer, main course, and dessert. If you manage to get whisky into all three of those, you get yourself a new car model.” She runs a hand down her front and winks. “There’s four mystery,  _ mandatory _ , ingredients in your Red Riding Hood baskets there. Mandatory means you gotta use ‘em. I looked that up in the dictionary myself.”

One of the other judges, Randy Nedley, clears his throat.

Wynonna puts a hand up towards him. “Hold onto that mustache, Neds. I’m getting to the good part.” She turns back to the contestants. “If your dish doesn’t cut it, you will be chopped. Chippy-chopped. Like confetti you make out of your ex-boyfriend’s love notes.” Wynonna leans forward, trying to catch Dolls's eyes. “ _ Ex _ ,” she stresses.

Nicole breathes in slowly, holding the air in her lungs until they burn.

“Want my advice?” Wynonna asks.

Nicole glances down the line. Jeremy nods rapidly.

Wynonna shoots two air guns off her hips. “Keep your legs closed and open those baskets.”

-

**_First basket: the appetizer course_ **

Nicole pulls the small metal handle on the basket and looks inside. She’s definitely going to throw up now.

“And what you’re looking at, folks, is the inside of a 12-year-old boy’s stomach.” Wynonna points at Jeremy. “Chetri, you’re what? Fourteen?”

Jeremy mumbles something Nicole doesn’t catch.

“Your first ingredient…”

Nicole pulls it out of the basket, swallowing back the small amount of lunch she managed to put down before this.

“Bologna cake,” Wynonna announces gleefully.

_ It stinks, _ is Nicole’s first thought. Her second is,  _ where is the bologna _ ? It’s a tall, round stack on a small appetizer plate. Crackers stick out of the top of it and line the bottom of the cake. She nudges the plate and gags when it jiggles.

Wynonna doesn’t slow down. “Tomato soup.”

Nicole nods to herself. That should be easy enough to work with. Annoying, but easy.

“Celtuce,” Wynonna continues. Nicole pulls out a long stalk of something that looks like a bad science experiment: lettuce on the top and asparagus on the bottom. It’s stalky and solid in her hand. She starts trying to think about what she can do with that. Use the top for greens? Shave down the stalk for a slaw?

“And finally, cerignola olives.”

“Cera- _ what _ ?” Lonnie breathes next to her.

Wynonna makes a big show of checking her watch. “Twenty minutes on the huge-ass clock right there. And your time starts… 10 seconds ago!”

Wynonna fades out of Nicole’s sight and she zeros in on the basket.  _ Bologna cake, tomato soup, celtuce, olives. _ She rolls the ingredients over in her head, trying to find the string to connect them all as she stares at them on her station.  _ Bologna cake, tomato soup, celtuce, olives. Bologna cake, tomato soup, celtuce, olives. Bologna- _

_ No _ . She can’t stop. She takes off towards the pantry, scanning the spices, still working the ingredients together and apart and together again. Nothing is sticking. She checks the grains.  _ Maybe some kind of risotto? _ Lonnie opens the refrigerator behind her and she sees the cream.

A light in her head goes off.  _ Tomato soup and grilled cheese. _

Hayley loved tomato soup growing up. Their mom would keep cans of it in the pantry and Hayley would go through them as if they were glasses of water. Nicole never liked the soup part; she  _ loved _ the grilled cheese. She’d make all different kinds of grilled cheese, with all different kinds of cheeses and fillings - pesto, artichoke, and Havarti, bacon and gooey cheddar.

She has a habanero jack grilled cheese with pears and prosciutto on her menu right now as part of their seasonal chef’s table menu; she can just substitute a few things in.

A toasted bologna cake sandwich with spiced tomato soup.  _ Perfect _ .

She grabs the bread and the cream and some spices -  oregano, basil, thyme, rosemary, crushed red pepper flakes. She grabs some red wine vinegar and hides it on her station. She thinks she can hear Wynonna talking to the judges, but she tunes it out so she can focus on her soup instead. She empties the can into a pot and adds the cream, stirring it in as the stove heats up.

Nicole reaches for the bologna cake and pauses. It’s still  _ disgusting _ . There’s something that looks like frosting, but it’s really - she sticks a finger into it and licks it. She gags before she focuses, and tries to sift through the flavors.  _ Cream cheese, something oniony, and… Worcestershire sauce? _

She’s always been good at finding new ways to make simple ingredients work. The  _ Toronto Sun _ called her an ‘ _ up and coming new chef using fresh flavors in fresh ways. _ ’ In college, she bought an electric griddle, set up a small ingredients station, and made ‘One o’clock Omelettes’ for the drunk kids stumbling back to their dorms. Her first girlfriend, Shae, used to throw her curveballs and have her make something out of nothing - small  _ Chopped _ challenges. Maybe she had biased audiences, but maybe she just  _ is _ that good. 

Wynonna picks a spoon out of Nicole’s utensil caddy, banging it against the side of the metal canister. “Fifteen minutes left. Get on your pony, bologna.”

Nicole swallows hard against the rebellious roll of her stomach and cuts a slice out of the bologna cake. It’s worse than she thought, thin layers of bologna between equally thin layers of the cheese mixture on the outside of the cake. She picks up a cracker from the bottom of the cake and scoops up a mouthful.

“Ladies and Nedley, Haught is going for it!” Wynonna cheers.

The texture is worse than it looks. The cream cheese mixture is softened and warm. The bologna is still chewy. Nicole catches Waverly’s eye and she looks like she’s ready to throw up on Nicole’s behalf. She made the same face during an episode when someone served a chunk of untreated durian. Nicole remembers hiding behind her pillow, her secondhand embarrassment wishing the ground would swallow her whole as Waverly took the smallest bite in the history of  _ Chopped _ . The bologna cake feels stuck to her teeth when she swallows it down, and she quickly checks the soup simmering on the stove to wash the taste away.

She has to fix this.

“How gross was that, huh?.” Wynonna leans against her station, picking up an olive and popping it in her mouth. “Like hospital-grade tapioca, amirite?”

Nicole sticks another cracker into the cake and offers it to Wynonna. “You tell me.”

Wynonna laughs. “Oh, no. I’m saving myself for something with a little more…  _ meat _ .” She drifts down the line and settles next to Dolls. This time when she picks up the olive and eats it, there’s something suggestive about it.

Nicole can feel Waverly watching her, studying her as she works. She’d picked up an heirloom tomato earlier on a whim, and it’s sitting in front of her now, staring back at her. She scoops it up and holds it in her hand, testing its weight. Waverly is still looking at her, and Nicole knows she needs to do  _ something _ .

She pulls a knife out of her kit. She’d sharpened her Wüsthof Classic Ikon Santoku earlier this morning until it could slice through a piece of paper in one clean sweep. It cuts through the tomato just as easily, and Nicole thinks she hears something like a noise of approval from someone at the judge’s table. She doesn’t linger on it. The clock is running down and she needs to start cooking.

But before she can grab for her ingredients, there’s a flare of heat at her side. Lonnie shrieks and ducks, reaching for the handle of the flaming pan. Nicole catches his hand and pushes it away before he can. “ _ No _ , cover it.” She points. “Cookie sheet.” He hands her the cookie sheet he used to carry his pantry ingredients to his station lid and she puts it down, smothering the flames.

Wynonna claps slowly. “Annnnd, Haughthead  _ can _ stand the heat. The judges give it a solid 6, at least. Nedder?”

Nedley grunts, but doesn’t say anything.

Nicole shakes her head and tries to focus.  _ Bologna cake, bologna cake.  _ She peels a few layers of bologna out of the cake, leaving the cream cheese mixture on. Perfect. She’ll make a BLT - bologna, lettuce, and tomato.  _ Fry the bologna _ , she thinks to herself. Give it some crunch. So she scrapes the cheese mix off of it, putting that aside for now; she’ll use it like she’d use mayonnaise. It’s hardly any work to turn a pan up on high, put some oil in, and get a good sear on it. She layers it on top of the bread: fried bologna and cheese, the leaves of the celtuce, a slice of tomato. The bread needs to be toasted, though. Soggy bread is a rookie mistake. She turns back to her pan, wipes it out, and throws a large pat of butter into it.

Everything starts to come together. Her soup is perfectly spiced after she adds one more dash of salt to it and the red wine vinegar. The bread on her sandwich is a golden color and firm. She slices the olives lengthwise; they can act as a pickle. When the timer runs out, she’s wiping the edge of her last plate, cleaning it off.

She doesn’t realize how badly she’s sweating until she stands still.

Lonnie groans next to her and bangs his fist down on the metal top. “No,” he whispers furiously. “No, no, no.”

Nicole looks over and her heart sinks a little for him. His celtuce is sitting on his station, completely forgotten. But all is fair in love and cooking, and she can’t help but feel better that she didn’t set anything on fire  _ and _ got everything on her dish.

“Alright, time to face the firing squad.” Wynonna points at the marks on the floor where they’re supposed to stand and they file out from behind the stations to their spots. Nicole looks down at the taped x, centering herself before she looks up at the judge’s table properly.

“Let’s introduce our panel of judges because I’m contractually obligated to,” Wynonna says, sweeping her hand across the judge’s table. She points at Waverly. “She’s the princess of the culinary world, and her restaurant, Homestead, was voted best breakfast in Ottawa by the people, and the best place to get a breakfast Bloody Mary by me. It’s Waaaaverly Earp.” Wynonna leans forward, pretending to whisper. “Rumor has it she’s tripped Geoffrey Zakarian just because she could, and Bobby Flay won’t even try to hit on her.”

Waverly’s cheeks flush and she dips her head a little, looking up at Nicole through her eyelashes. That warm  tiramisu feeling sparks and burns like the grease fire on Lonnie’s cooktop. She doesn’t have a cookie sheet to put it out, so she lets it rage instead, meeting Waverly’s eyes and holding her gaze.

She’s not sure what the draw is, but there’s something almost magical about Waverly Earp. Even when she’s cutting someone down, criticizing their plate, she still manages to be polite and constructive.  _ It’s all in the smile and wave _ , Nicole read in a  _ Food Network _ magazine once. There was a rumor that the author, Rosita Bustillos, was dating Waverly at the time, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t true. 

She wants to know what exactly is behind that smile and wave.

Wynonna moves on. “Our next judge, straight out of the O. K. Corral, is the infamous farm-to-table pioneer, Doc Holliday. He left his ass-less chaps at home, but he brought his hat, and we can just imagine the rest for now.”

Doc’s cheeks flush. “Wynonna, I must implore you to  _ please _ -”

Wynonna winks. “Implore me all you want, Holliday. I don’t mind.”

Waverly fights a smile. 

“And finally, our resident meat and potatoes guy who has a scowl for every occasion, Randy Nedley.” Wynonna gives Nedley a thumbs up. “He’s opening his fourteenth steakhouse next month. I thought Wynonna’s would be a great name, but he’s boring and sticking with his usual, Sheriff’s Steakhouse.” She boos at him, but she’s still smiling.

Nicole has looked up to Randy Nedley since her aunt put a chef’s knife in her hand. He’s no-nonsense, just like his food.  _ Keep it simple _ , she heard him say once. In college, when she couldn’t sleep, she’d watch late night cooking show re-runs.  _ Take a good piece of meat and treat it right. That mumbo-jumbo they use these days? All it tells me is that you don’t know how to cook a steak. _

Her restaurant, The Deputy, is a nod to his influence on the culinary world.

Wynonna claps loudly, bringing everyone’s attention back to the food. There’s a bunch of PAs standing nearby, each of them holding plates of food for the judges to try. She knows that one of those dishes is being held back to photograph and film when this goes on the air; she hopes it was one of the better-looking plates. She’s almost positive she didn’t wipe her last plate down as well as she could have.

“So go on and tell us what you’ve done for this round,” Wynonna says as the plates are placed down in front of the judges. Wynonna’s eyes light up, and she reaches for Waverly’s plate. Waverly smacks her fingers with the fork she’s holding.

Dolls clears his throat. “I made a wonton with a bologna cake filling, and a reduced tomato soup dipping sauce, with a small celtuce and olive salad and a crispy noodle on the side.”

Nicole watches as the judges regard their plates. Dolls picked a large plate, a single wonton sitting perfectly off-center with the tomato sauce drizzled in circles at the edge of the plate. The celtuce looks like a one-bite salad, settled right up against the wonton. Nedley and Doc push their food around with their fork before they pick it up. Waverly grabs it with her fingers and pulls it right across the plate into the sauce.

Wynonna grins at Dolls. “And what are you going to do with your prize money, besides buy me a yacht and sail with me around the world?” She winks. “Bikini optional, of course.”

Dolls stares straight ahead. “My mentor, Lucado, is going to sell her restaurant, Black Badge. I’m going to use the money as a down payment to purchase it.”

Nicole whistles softly to herself. Black Badge is one of the best restaurants in Toronto. They do Asian fusion, and they do it the best; Lucado was on the shortlist for a Michelin star.  _ Son of a bitch _ , she swears. If she’d known she was up against Jeannie Lucado’s protege, she’d had done something more than a BLT. 

“Son,” Nedley starts. “What exactly is this supposed to be?”

Dolls falters for a moment. “Uh, a wonton with a-”

“No. I know what you said. But all I see is a measly little wonton and a salad that wouldn’t make a rabbit feel full. This portion isn’t even enough to serve the rats that live in Holliday’s greenhouses.”

Doc Holliday clears his throat. “I will have you know, it is their land as much as it is mine.”

Nedley scoffs. “Doesn’t make it right.” He looks back up at Dolls. “It’s a bit... dainty for my taste, but the flavors are there, so.” He huffs and pushes his plate away.

“Well, I think it’s downright delicious,” Doc says kindly. “The sear you got on this wonton wrapper is impressive, to say the least.”

Wynonna leans forward, her chin in her hands. “Go on and say the most. You know I like it when you talk.”

Doc adjusts his hat, and his throat bobs as he swallows. “No, thank you, ma’am.”

Wynonna reaches over and taps the brim of his hat, laughing as it slides low over his eyes. “Baby girl, what do you think?”

Waverly takes another delicate bite, chewing thoughtfully. “I like it,” she finally says. “I do wish the bologna had a bit of a texture to it, though.” She swallows some water, and Nicole breathes a small sigh of relief. Frying the bologna had been a good idea. 

The PAs remove the plates, and the judges take a swig of water, clearing their palettes. Jeremy’s plate goes down next, and Nicole watches Nedley’s eyes for his reaction.

“Tell us what you made, boy wonder.”

Jeremy starts and stops himself, swallowing hard enough that Nicole can see his throat bob. “What I’ve made for you today is, uh. Well. I made a crudité with celtuce and olives. I added purple dragon carrots, snap peas, and a fried artichoke heart. I used the tomato soup and the bologna cake as a gastrique instead of leaving space for a dip.” He rushes on, tripping over his words. “I used the cream cheese mix from the bologna cake and added it to the tomato soup, and I bulked up the bologna with some mortadella.”

Doc looks impressed. “A gastrique. What a perfectly lovely idea.” He picks up a purple dragon carrot and bites into it, grinning at the crunch it makes. “I appreciate the raw use of your ingredients, Jeremy.”

Jeremy’s cheeks redden. “Th-thank you,” he breathes. If he looked ready to pass out in the back room, Nicole is sure he’s going to fall over now.

Waverly nods with Doc. “You made good use of the pantry, I’ll give you that.”

Jeremy’s color evens out. “It seemed like a waste of good produce not to use it. I make something similar at my restaurant, but I make fried squash blossoms instead of-”

“Let me get this straight.” Nedley interrupts. He leans forward on his elbows, his forehead wrinkled in confusion. “You didn’t cook the bologna at all. You made a… a gastrique?” He waits for Waverly to nod at him. “A gastrique. You stuck perfectly good piece of  _ mortadella _ in the blender to make a bologna and mortadella  _ gastrique _ .”

Jeremy withers under his glare. “Uh, yes, Mr. Nedley. Sir.”

Nedley huffs and sits back in his seat. “Unbelievable. Kids these days.” He jabs a finger in Jeremy’s direction and scowls at Wynonna. “They don’t know how to respect meat, do they.”

“I respect meat, sir,” Wynonna says solemnly. She looks at Dolls again and winks.

The PAs move Jeremy’s plate out of the way, and she watches him sag forward, the adrenaline leaving his body in a hard  _ whoosh _ . Lonnie is visibly shaking next to her. There’s sweat beading above his upper lip; she almost thinks about offering to get him a towel.

Wynonna gestures at him. “You’re up, Lonnie umami.”

Lonnie’s face looks a little green as he starts speaking. “Celtuce,” he manages.

Doc leans forward encouragingly. “Go on.”

“I forgot the celtuce,” he says in a rush. “I forgot the celtuce.”

Wynonna winces. “Well, it’s  _ not _ grounds for automatic disqualification, but it’s not looking good, Lonster.”

Lonnie swallows hard. “Right, right.”

Waverly smiles now, nodding at Lonnie. Nicole feels weightless when that smile drifts in her direction. “Why don’t you tell us what you did get on the plate.”

Lonnie nods so hard Nicole is sure he cracked something in his neck. “I made fried bologna cake with a tomato dipping sauce and an olive garnish.”

Nedley narrows his eyes suspiciously at Lonnie. “What exactly is it that you added just before time was up. I saw you put something on the bologna.”

“Oh, uh.” Lonnie looks left and right. He mumbles something.

Nedley leans forward again. “Speak up, son.”

Lonnie clears his throat. “I said, I used truffle oil.”

Nedley groans again and pushes the plate away. “I ain’t eating this.”

“I do believe,” Doc starts. “That it might be against the rules to-”

“I said, I ain’t eating this,” Nedley repeats, his voice rising. “Truffle oil. Truffle oil! Should have just pissed on it and called it a day.”

Doc blanches slightly. He clears his throat, glancing nervously at Nedley. “I do appreciate the use of the tomato sauce as a dipping sauce,” he says in stilting words.

“Unfortunately,” Waverly cuts in, giving Doc a sympathetic look. “Your fried bologna cake ball had too much moisture from the cheese mixture, and it ended up being a little soggy. The texture element you were looking for becomes… mushy.” She winces slightly. “The truffle oil kind of drowns out the rest of the flavors.”

Nicole is sure she hears Lonnie choke back a sob.

The PAs swoop in, take Lonnie’s plates, and leave the judges with hers.

Wynonna gestures at her now. “Haught cross bun, tell us what you made.”

Nicole pulls at the collar of her chef’s jacket, willing her throat not to close up on her. “I made a BLT and tomato soup. I used the bologna cake, celtuce, and a slice of heirloom tomato. I added spices and cream to the soup to give it some more body.”

She watches, holding her breath as each of the judges picks up their sandwiches, taking small bites before dipping the sandwich in the soup on the second bite.

“You fried the bologna?” Waverly asks.

Nicole nods, trying for confident. “I used the cheese mixture as a mayo.”

Waverly takes another small bite, considering the sandwich in her hand. “I think frying it was a good idea,” she finally says. “It gives the sandwich another crunchy texture. Once you dip the bread into the soup, you lose a little bit of the crust on the bread.”

Something like relief floods through Nicole. She fights back the urge to grin. She doesn’t want to come across as too confident just because Waverly Earp thinks she made a good BLT. But there’s a niggling in her stomach that screams in victory.  _ Waverly Earp likes my food _ .  _ Waverly Earp thinks I made a good sandwich _ .

“How did you use the olives?” Waverly asks.

The confidence starts to fade a little. Waverly didn’t spend this much time on the other contestants. She complimented them and offered suggestions, but she never said more than one thing to each of them. Now she’s asking Nicole another question, picking up an olive and holding it between two fingers.

“I sliced them longways and left them on the plate as a pickle for the BLT.”

Waverly hums. “So you didn’t treat the olive in any way.”

_ Shit _ . She knows she should have put more time in the olives.  _ Rookie mistake, Nicole _ .

“No, I didn’t,” she admits. “I felt like they were briny enough, and could add a salty element to the plate.”

Waverly works her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment. “But you didn’t want to add them to the sandwich.”

Nicole shakes her head.  _ Shit, shit, shit _ . Olives could sink her whole dish, knocking her out of the first round. Lonnie forgetting his celtuce doesn’t mean he’s out. Even Jeremy ruining mortadella doesn’t necessarily mean he’s going home. Leaving an ingredient untreated? That puts her on the same playing field as both of them. But she can’t go home now. Not in the first round. She can’t go home and tell everyone she didn’t make it all the way. 

“Hmm,” is all Waverly says, looking at Doc for his response.

“I loved it,” he says plainly. “The crunch of the bread and the fried bologna. You have managed to take a rather horrifying ingredient - I can honestly say I have not had this before and I certainly do not plan on trying it another time. You took this and made it into something we all know and love. I commend you, chef.”

Nicole smiles now. “Thank you.”

Doc tips his hat to her.

“Neds, whatcha got for us?”

“It’s good,” Nedley is all says.

Nicole waits for more. Her smile starts to falter.

“What else, Nedley,” Wynonna finally prompts.

Nedley frowns at her. “Nothing else. It’s good. I don’t need to wax poetry about it like some other people,” he says, glancing at Doc. “It’s good. Period.”

Nicole breathes a sigh of relief.  _ Randy Nedley liked her food. He said it was good.  _ If she doesn’t manage to impress Waverly Earp by the end of this competition, she can at least go home, put this sandwich on her menu, and write  _ Randy Nedley said, ‘It’s good. Period’ _ beneath it.

Elimination doesn’t feel as close as it did before.

“Alright then,” Wynonna announces. “Our judges will discuss your dishes and then have one of you taken out with the trash.”

“Wynonna,” Waverly scolds.

“Kidding,” Wynonna says quickly. She puts her hand to one side of her mouth, blocking Waverly’s sight. “Totally not kidding. Loser has to do the dishes.”

Lonnie winces. They start to file out, and Nicole is halfway down the hallway before she hears someone calling her name. She turns, expecting Wynonna. Not Waverly.

But there she is. Waverly Earp. Calling her name and lingering in the hallway. Waiting for her. Looking at her with those eyes and smiling softly at her. Nicole looks back at the guys headed down the hall and stops, turning towards Waverly.

“Hi,” Waverly says. “I just wanted to know…”

“Yes?” Nicole asks. She hates that she sounds breathless. Hates that she’s practically horizontal, leaning forward with butterflies in her stomach.

“Your soup,” Waverly says suddenly. “What spices did you use?”

Nicole frowns, confused. “Uh,  oregano, basil, thyme, rosemary, crushed red pepper flakes,” she counts off. “And…”

Waverly smiles softly. “And?”

Nicole leans forward a little more, lowering her voice to a whisper. “A little red wine vinegar, just to help it boost the flavors.”

Waverly snaps her fingers. “I knew there was something I was missing. Red wine vinegar.” She smiles a little wider. “That’s smart. I guess they didn’t vote you Best Newcomer for nothing.”

Nicole’s heart stops for just a beat. “You… You know that?”

Waverly laughs a little, dips her head, and meets Nicole’s eyes again. “Wynonna said it when she announced you.”

“Oh,” Nicole says. Her stomach drops, and she can feel the tips of her ears burning.

“But, I did,” Waverly continues, taking steps back towards the judge's table. “Know that, I mean.”

“Chef,” someone says from behind her. “They’re waiting for you.”

Waverly keeps walking backward, keeps smiling, and Nicole feels her stomach churn like a bread mixture, set on high.

-

**_The first judgment_ **

  
  


Dolls hands her water, and she takes it with a nod of her head.

Waverly Earp already knew. She knew that Nicole was named Best Newcomer.  _ Waverly Earp knows who she is. _

She nearly bumps into Jeremy as he paces back and forth across the small space. Lonnie is back in his corner, rocking silently back and forth. If someone got the most scathing review, it has to be him. Mushy fried food? It’s essentially a grease ball dipped in grocery store tomato soup. Nicole isn’t sure she could bite into it, let alone swallow it.

Jeremy didn’t get off so easily, either. He turned Nedley off, for sure. In fact, she was the only one who didn’t. Even Dolls didn’t win Nedley’s favor, and if Nicole had to pick a dish to try, she’d pick his. Doc seemed to like everyone’s dish - except Lonnie. But Waverly was constructively critical of everyone, noting the small errors they made in their haste to finish by the end of the round.

Still.  _ Waverly Earp knows who I am _ .

Going home in the first round suddenly feels like  _ maybe _ , it’s not that bad.

“Deep breaths,” Dolls instructs Jeremy. He has him by the shoulders, looking into his eyes as he works to get Jeremy to follow his breathing. Nicole opens another water, forcing it into Jeremy’s hands as soon as he stops hyperventilating. He drinks it down greedily, some of it dribbling down his chin.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps. “I just didn’t expect-”

“It to be that nerve-wracking?”

Jeremy shakes his head. “For Doc to be so good-looking up close.”

Nicole pauses for a moment before she snorts, clapping him hard on the back. “Oh, kid. You’ve got it bad.”

“He’s  _ majestic _ ,” Jeremy breathes.

Dolls lifts his hand off of Jeremy’s shoulder very slowly. “Doc. He’s not really your culinary type, is he?”

Jeremy sighs wistfully. “We can be the Romeo and Romeo of the food world.”

“Heads up, everyone. They made their decision,” one of the PAs calls to them. “We’re heading back to the set now.”

They line up in the same order, Dolls leading the way through the frosted glass door and down the narrow hallway leading into the set. Nicole takes a deep breath.“I think we all did our best,” Nicole says gamely. “We all tried. So don’t worry too much,” she directs at Lonnie.

Lonnie rubs a hand over his pale face. “I’m not good at dishes.”

Nicole gently steers him towards the hallway. “I’m sure that was a joke.”

At least, she’s 85% sure that it was a joke.

The judges are all sitting up straight in their chairs, Wynonna leaning heavily against the big table they sit behind. Nicole finds her mark on the floor, taking a breath to steady her nerves. Dolls is sure to get through to the next round. And she’s getting more confident that she will, too. Both Jeremy and Lonnie offended Nedley; they’re probably on the chopping block.

Wynonna doesn’t give them a second to adjust to the harsh stage lights before she’s snapping up and pushing her hair back over her shoulder. “Right, let’s rip the band-aid off. Judges, who’s it going to be?” Her hand hovers over the cloche before she grips the handle and jerks it up.

Lonnie’s fried bologna ball rolls to one side of the plate.

Nicole feels the pressure in her chest deflate. Jeremy lets out a huge sigh of relief and then winces.

“So,” Nedley says slowly. “I think you know the reasons why you’re going home today.”

Lonnie nods weakly. 

“In case you don’t,” Nedley continues. “Let me explain this one more time.” He starts counting on his fingers. “First of all, you nearly set the kitchen on fire. If it wasn’t for Haught’s quick thinking, we’d all be ash right now. Second, you left out a basket ingredient. And finally, you used truffle oil like you’d use a salad dressing. For those reasons, you’re being chopped.”

“I… I understand.” Lonnie looks at Nicole and then the others. “It was great to cook next to you all. And for the record, I thought using the olives as pickles was a good idea,” he says to Nicole.

Nicole glances at Waverly and quickly looks away.

Lonnie shakes the judge's hands, withering under Nedley’s stare. “Do I really have to do dishes?” he whispers to Wynonna, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Not this time, buddy.” Wynonna squeezes his shoulder. “Maybe the next time, though. Make sure you take your apron home. Girls love that. Don’t they, Waverly?”

Waverly’s face flushes, and she swats in Wynonna’s direction.

Nicole watches Lonnie disappear down the hall. She can just imagine him turning at those frosted doors, headed towards the front of the building. He’ll take off his apron and then that’ll be it. His chance at  _ Chopped _ champion is over, all because of a little fire, a missing ingredient, and a lot of truffle oil. Nicole’s chest tightens again. The field is smaller now. There’s less room for error. She can’t leave a basket ingredient untreated. She needs to tighten up her presentation. She needs to show the judges that she’s not just Best Newcomer; now that she’s here, she’s just the  _ best _ .

Wynonna signals for them to get back to their work stations, and just like that, the next round is ready to begin.

-

**_Second basket: the main course_ **

“Are you ready to make these baskets your-” Wynonna stops herself and scowls. “I can’t say that on the air, but imagine I said a word that starts with ‘b’ and ends with ‘itch,’ okay?”

Jeremy nods solemnly beside her, Lonnie’s empty station between them. Dolls grunts his agreement.

Wynonna grins. “Alright then. Chef Haught toddy, Chef Bill Nye, Chef Loverboy, open your baskets.”

Nicole pulls too hard on the handles, and the basket jerks a little.

“We’ve got sombrero pasta,” Wynonna says. “It comes with its own hat, so don’t forget that.”

Nicole peers into the basket. Wynonna is right. There’s a Barbie-sized sombrero hat in there. She picks it out and puts it on a spoon in her utensil caddy. She looks at the pasta again; they’re also shaped like sombreros.  _ Great _ .

“Nedley, this one is for you - pork chops.” Wynonna fires a finger gun at him, blowing imaginary smoke off her fingertip. “Then we have garbanzo beans and sun-dried tomatoes.”

Nicole’s brain goes into hyperdrive. They’re not just pork chops; they’re  _ double  _ chops. Double chops. The safe move would be to break it down, cutting each into two single pork chops. She can feel Nedley’s eyes on her, though.  _ And wouldn’t it be great to have  _ two _ dishes on her menu that Randy Nedley likes _ ?

Jeremy and Dolls are moving around her furiously, grabbing things out of the pantry. She circles the shelving, scanning for the perfect ingredients. She sees the kalamata olives and grabs them.  _ Redemption _ , she thinks.  _ I’ll actually do something with the olives this time. But what? _

_ A pesto, maybe _ . Sun-dried tomatoes, olives, some parmesan. She’ll blend it down and make a pesto to go on her seared chops.  _ Perfect _ . That leaves the garbanzo beans and the pasta, but she puts them to the side for now and leaves the small sombrero hat on her utensil caddy, to remind herself to use the pasta; she’s not Lonnie. She grabs the salt and pepper, unwraps her pork chops, and lays it all out on her cutting board.

“Haughthead doesn’t slow down, does she?” she hears Wynonna say.

Nicole can hear the judges talking about her - it’s not enough time, she won’t get the meat cooked all the way through. She glances at the clock as she heavily salts the pork chop, turning it over to get the other side. She needs to get it done in less than five minutes, or the whole idea is going to go bust. So she ignores them. 

She didn’t come here to  _ try _ and get something done. She can here  _ to _ get it done.

She hears Waverly’s voice rise above the rest. “Honestly, I won’t be all that impressed with just a seared piece of meat. I expect more out of everyone.”

Nicole puts the double chop in the pan and lets the sizzle of the oil drown Waverly’s voice out. 

She checks the clock. 26 minutes and 21 seconds left.

She puts on a pot of water, salting it reflexively. She’s not sure what she’ll do with the pasta, but she’ll have to cook it first.

Nicole glances over at Jeremy. He’s carefully grating garbanzo beans, creating a pile of shavings that he throws into a bowl. He mixes them with some whole garbanzos, some parsley, breadcrumbs, and an egg.  _ Meatballs. He’s making meatballs. _ He catches her eye and smiles nervously.

Dolls is methodical at the other end of the line, breaking down the pork chops into single cuts. She hesitates again, just for a moment. But something spurs her on;  _ double chops in 30 minutes? _ She’d be a  _ Chopped _ marvel for sure.

Nicole focuses on the rest of her ingredients.  _ Pesto _ . She pops the top off the can of sun-dried tomatoes and fishes them out, dropping them into a blender. She wonders if, maybe, she can take this blender home. As a consolation prize.

Wynonna plucks the small sombrero off the utensil caddy and pops it down over the top of a set of tongs. “Haught,” she says. She shakes the sombrero at Nicole. “Decided what you’re going to do with your Cinco de Brero yet?”

Nicole shrugs a shoulder, glancing quickly at Wynonna before she goes back to her pesto.  _ Sun-dried tomatoes, add the parmesan _ . When she opens the can of kalamata olives, she looks up and catches Waverly watching her. She doesn’t look away as she sets them on her cutting board. She doesn’t look away as she picks up her knife. She doesn’t look away as she cuts through the first olive and splits it into two even halves.

Waverly finally looks away as Nicole slices through the last olive and almost catches her finger in the process.

Something hot makes its way down Nicole’s chest, and for a moment, she’s sure the ghost of Lonnie has tried to start another kitchen fire. But the heat moves up to the tips of her ears, and she quickly ducks her head. It’s the same kind of broiling feeling that came after her first kiss; the kind that festered under her skin the first time she held a girl’s hand in the dark of the school assembly; the first time she laid with Shae in her small dorm room and the lock on the door.

This burns hotter than that, though.

And then it’s not just under her skin. It’s in the air, and she can feel the heat through her chef’s coat. Jeremy yelps, and Nicole looks over, the air acrid as the flame off his pan singes his arm hair.

“Looks like Dr. Doogie tried to flambé and flam-failed.” Wynonna picks the sombrero off of the tongs and points them at Nicole. “Go put that out, would you?”

But Jeremy is taking care of it now, getting the pan off the heat and stepping back from the stove. He wipes his face with a towel, and takes a deep breath. He yelps again when he turns and finds Doc right behind him, leaning in. 

_ Here we go _ . Nicole smiles to herself. Jeremy’s face is frozen somewhere between pure elation and absolute despair. Still, he swallows hard enough for Nicole to see his Adam’s apple bob. 

“Chef Jeremy,” Doc says kindly. “I am wondering what you are concocting for us this round.”

“Majestic,” Jeremy breathes.

Doc’s smile falters slightly. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’re majesty. Muscles. Must-mustache.” Jeremy laughs nervously. His face falls. “Now I’m just saying words that start with M.”

“Meat,” Nedley shouts from the judge’s table. “What’re you doing with the meat?”

Jeremy’s eyes are wild when he looks up and past Nicole. “Lollipops,” he manages.

Nicole winces along with Nedley.  _ Pork chop lollipops _ .  _ He’s cutting off most of the meat that way _ . It won’t win him Nedley’s vote, but Nicole sees Waverly’s eyes spark with interest.

“I will admit I am quite perplexed by your fancy gadgets.” Doc takes his hat off and holds it over his chest. He glances at the mixing bowl Jeremy put aside earlier. Nicole knows he put powdered sodium alginate into it.  _ Molecular gastronomy is a risk _ , she knows. But he seems willing to take it. 

“I  _ am _ intrigued by your use of raw ingredients, however,” Doc continues.

“I can cut an onion!” Jeremy says loudly. He holds up a knife, and Doc ducks as it swings dangerously close to his mustache. “Look ma, no hands.”

Jeremy closes his eyes and brings the blade of his knife down and across his fingernail.

Doc jumps back, alarmed. Jeremy goes pale and the knife falls out of his hand and skids across his station before it almost knocks his bowl of sodium alginate over. He holds his other hand up in the air, a steady stream of blood already running down his fingers, dripping onto his cutting board and over his uncut onion. 

“Sink,” Dolls says gruffly, grabbing Jeremy by the shoulders and muscling him in the direction of the double sink on the wall. He’ll need the medics to come in and wrap it; he’ll need to wipe down his board and throw away anything that the blood might have possibly gotten on. It’s a  _ huge _ time setback.

_ Maybe a bigger personal setback _ , Nicole thinks as Jeremy’s eyes dart towards Doc, headed back to his seat at the judge’s table. He stumbles to the sink, and the medic swarms him quickly.

“Fifteen minutes down, fifteen minutes to go!” Wynonna calls. She drops the tongs back onto Nicole’s station, and Nicole quickly dumps them into the bin beneath her table top. 

_ Sombrero pasta, sombrero pasta _ . Nicole stares at the package of the tri-colored pasta, waiting for it to speak to her. All she can hear is a mariachi band playing a bad rendition of Eric Carmen’s  _ Hungry Eyes _ . The pasta stays quiet. She goes back to her pesto instead, adding the cut olives into the sun-dried tomatoes and parmesan cheese. She turns the blender on, letting the ingredients mix before she adds the oil from the tomatoes into it.

She checks the pork chops and grins; the sear is nearly a thick golden crust.  _ It’s starting to come together. One ingredient at a time _ . The garbanzo beans are still sitting in front of her next to the pasta, and the time is ticking down. She’s got to cook it, at least, while she tries to figure out what to do with it. So she cuts open the package and dumps the sombrero-shaped noodles into the boiling water.

It feels like time is moving too quickly now. She can hear it ticking away in the back of her head like a leaky faucet.  _ Drip, drip, drip, drip _ . Jeremy is back at his station, a clear glove over the large bulb of gauze wrapped around his finger. He’s clumsy with his hands now, his confidence wavering.

Wynonna puts the small sombrero on her head and prances down the line, stopping at Dolls’s station. She lifts one leg up in the air, leaning her chin into her hands, and smiles widely at him. “Tell mama what you’re cooking.”

Someone from the judge’s table sighs heavily.

Nicole snorts softly and goes back to her pesto, spooning it out of the blender. She spreads a thick layer of it over the surface of the pork chops and quickly covers the pan with a lid, trapping in the steam. It’ll cook the pork chop through and keep it moist. The clock is still counting down, and she still doesn’t know what to do with her pasta or the garbanzo beans. 

_ Shit, shit, shit. _

The blender of pesto is still half-full and she stares at it as precious seconds go by.

_ Pesto, pasta, pesto, pasta, pesto pasta! _ She claps her hands together and pulls the pasta up from the water, checking it to see if its al dente or not. She bites into it and waffles. It has a bite, but maybe it’s too much? She drops the pasta for another minute and gathers the rest of the ingredients she needs: cherry tomatoes, mozzarella, some more kalamata olives, a red onion, and some parsley. She’ll fry the garbanzo beans and substitute that in for pine nuts, to give it that crunch. 

Pork chops and pasta salad. She pictures her sister making a summer salad and her brother-in-law crowding the grill as he tries to tell her when to flip her burgers; her nephew, Nathan, calling for her to come and play Marco Polo in the pool; a cold beer sweating in her hand. Nicole pictures it all and gets lost for a minute, coming back to herself when Wynonna announces there are only eight minutes to go.

The judge’s eyes are on her now. She can feel them. She doesn’t open the lid on the pork; she needs it to cook just a minute or two longer, and then she’ll take it out to rest. She focuses on her pasta salad instead, pulling the noodles from the water. She runs them to the sink and rinses them in cold water, trying to pull all of the heat out of the noodles. 

Nicole glances at Dolls’s station as she passes. He’s doing a play on a Ramen bowl - noodles and a broth that smells amazing. She can see the sun-dried tomatoes and scallions, some peas. She almost stops and asks him to try a bite until she remembers she’s in the middle of competing against him.

Jeremy is flailing next to him, but Nicole shoots past him. The pasta is dying in her hands and she needs to get it put together. She drops the pasta onto her station and grabs the garbanzo beans, pulling the top off and tossing it carelessly onto her station.

“Looks like Haught is feeling the heat,” she hears Wynonna say. 

Nicole ignores her, dodging Jeremy’s questionable knife skills, and focuses on her dish. She stops at the fryer, and Dolls is there, pulling up a basket of garbanzo beans. Nicole curses.  _ We’re using the ingredient in the same way _ . It’s fine. Hers just needs to be done better. She dumps the can into the basket and drops the basket into the oil. 

_ Stick it, move. Stick it, move _ . 

She does a quick chop on the olives and the onions, adding them into the mixing bowl with the pasta. She spends more time on the tomatoes, slicing them cleanly into quarters before she throws those in, too. The rest of the pesto is next; she mixes the salad until the pesto is coating everything. She pulls the garbanzo beans from the fryer and spreads them out on a layer of paper towel to soak the grease out; she’ll add them at the end so they don’t get too soggy. She won’t make Lonnie’s mistake.

There’s 5 minutes left on the clock now, and Nicole lunges for the pork chops, pulling the lid off.  _ It smells perfect _ . She carefully pulls them from the pan and sets them on her cutting board. She’ll have to let it rest up to the last possible second and it’s risky. She can hear Dolls and Jeremy moving around, and the clinking of ceramic as they pick their plates. She can hear the judges talking, pushing them to remember to use all of their ingredients. 

“Two minutes on the clock,” Wynonna announces.

Nicole feels shaky now. Time is moving too quickly. Her pork is still resting, so she gets plates instead, holding different options in her hands until she settles on one: a round plate with a lip to it. A plate on a paper plate for her picnic main dish.

“Pork chops!” Waverly shouts. “Don’t forget your pork chops!”

Nicole takes a deep, steadying breath as she plates. Her pesto pasta salad goes into a ring mold, packing it into a solid shape. She garnishes it with the fried garbanzo beans and leaves it in the mold for now. She’ll take it off when she’s plated the pork chops. Her hand shakes slightly as she holds her knife above the pork. Too thin of a slice and she’ll ruin everything she hoped to achieve. Too thick and the judges won’t be able to get it down.

Wynonna puts two fingers in her mouth and whistles. “One minute!”

She presses the knife to the top of the pork chop and slices down with one smooth motion. The pork is perfect, glistening on the inside with the pesto sitting firmly on the top. She makes three cuts in each chop, getting four slices out of each one. She layers them one on top of the other, slightly fanned around the ring mold, and taking some of the pesto off the bone of the chop to spread over the meat. She pulls the ring mold off the salad and holds her breath as she waits to see if it falls.

“Ten, nine, eight,” Wynonna starts to call.

Nicole steps back, quickly scanning her station. Garbanzo beans, check. Sun-dried tomatoes, two way. Check. Pork chops, check. Pasta, check. She looks up, satisfied, and the clock hits zero.

“It’s all over,” Wynonna sings, clapping her hands together like she’s sitting at a hockey game, cheering on a winning team. “Line ‘em up, and the judges are going to knock you down.”

Nicole follows behind Jeremy and Dolls, stopping at the marked spot on the floor. It’s a new piece of tape, set up for having three people in front of the judges instead of four. Nicole can appreciate the need for even spacing. 

“Drum roll, please,” Wynonna asks. She’s the only one who taps her hands against the table. She looks at each judge, frowning. “None of you are invited to my birthday party.” She looks at Dolls. “But you can be. I’ll even wear my birthday suit.”

Nicole tries not to stare at the blush that suddenly blooms on Dolls’s face, but she can’t help it. 

“Right, let’s go.” Wynonna points at Jeremy. “You’re up, Edward Scissorhands.”

Jeremy looks down at his still-gloved hand and frowns. “But I don’t have scissors for-” He stops at the look Nedley gives him and nods, his head bobbing up and down. “My dish. I made pork.”

Nicole winces on his behalf.

“What else did you make?” Waverly prompts kindly.

Jeremy takes a deep breath, some of the color returning to his face, and tries again. “I made pork chop lollipops, with a sun-dried tomato sauce over sombrero pasta with garbanzo meatballs.”

“You cut that pork chop down,” Nedley comments. He holds the end product up, the lollipop looking small in his large hand. “Trimmed off most of the fat, too.”

“I-I did,” Jeremy says slowly.

“Lose most of the flavor that way.” Nedley huffs and puts the pork chop down, cutting off a bite. He chews it carefully, his face blank. Nicole wishes she could read it, but all he does is nod in Jeremy’s direction and looks down the line, waiting for someone else to pass judgment.

“I admit, Chef Chetri. I was looking forward to that fancy caviar-style concoction you were putting together.” Doc scoops up another forkful of pasta. “I had never seen such a type of preparation such as that.”

“Cut,” Jeremy says, his voice strangled.

Doc smiles kindly. “Yes, I was there. I am very sorry for your misfortunes. Unfortunately,” he starts.

Nicole watches the fear grow on Jeremy’s face as Doc continues speaking.

“I do think you were unable to recover from that medical emergency. Your plate feels very haphazard. Hurried, even.” Doc nods at the garbanzo meatballs. “While these are mighty delicious, it feels like you made a pasta and meatballs dish and added the pork as an afterthought.”

Waverly leans forward, catching Jeremy’s eye. “And I hate to have to say this, but my pork is undercooked.”

Jeremy deflates and sags to one side. “No,” he breathes.

“I agree with Doc, though. The meatball is very, very good. I’d love to know how you did it.”

Jeremy straightens up a little bit. “Well, I took a microplane and-”

“After,” Waverly says gently.

“Right, right.” Jeremy’s head bobs up and down wildly. “Right, cool. Thumbs up.”

Nicole meets Dolls’s eye over Jeremy’s head.  _ Did he just say ‘thumbs up’ and  _ not  _ put a thumb into the air _ .

“Double the thumbs, double the fun,” Wynonna says loudly. She nods at the PAs, who replace Jeremy’s plates with the soup bowls Dolls chose. “And what about you, good sir?”

Dolls straightens up imperceptibly. “I made a soy pork ramen bowl.” He nods towards dish. “I made a quick stock with the pork bones, ramen noodles, scallions, shaved carrots, sliced pork with a reduced soy sauce, soft set eggs, and garbanzo beans.”

Waverly pushes the ingredients around with a chopstick, looking into the bowl. “How did you use the sun-dried tomatoes?” 

“With the pork stock, ma’am.”

Waverly smiles. “Waverly is just fine, chef.”

Nicole wonders if Waverly would let her do the same. She watches the way Waverly uses the chopsticks carefully, picking up a strand of noodles. It’s mesmerizing, the way she holds herself so gracefully. Nicole could get lost just-

“Is that an edible flower?” Nedley asks, staring down at his bowl.

Dolls starts at Nedley’s question. “Uh, yes. It is.”

Wynonna picks one out of Waverly’s bowl, holding it between two fingers. “What happened to it?”

“Uh, I believe the heat from the soup may have caused the petals to close.” Dolls leans forward, trying to peer into Waverly’s dish.

“Don’t worry, big boy. The next time you need a flower that can keep its petals open and handle the heat, I’m your girl.” Wynonna winks and shimmies her hips a little.

Dolls makes a noise, like someone squeezing the air out of a balloon.

Wynonna doesn’t miss a beat, shimmying again as she turns to Nicole. “Haughtstuff?”

Nicole clears her throat and pulls back her shoulders. “I made a double pork chop with pesto and a pesto pasta salad on the side.” She takes a deep breath and smiles. 

She feels good about this dish. She got everything on the plate, transformed everything she was given. She plated everything but the pork before the 2-minute mark, but resting it is important. It makes or breaks even the best-cooked meat.. She just hopes it rested  _ enough _ . 

Waverly takes a bit of the pork and then puts her fork down slowly. “So we told you it was too risky to cook a double pork chop in 30 minutes and you went ahead and did it anyway.”

Nicole reels back a little, surprised by the sharpness of Waverly’s voice. “I knew I could do it.”

“Even if you ran the risk of serving us undercooked meat.”

Nicole pulls her shoulders back, lifting her chin into the air. “I’m confident in my cooking.”

Waverly hums quietly and cuts another piece of pork off the bone. She spears it with her fork and chews it thoughtfully, washing her bite down with water.

Nicole winces. Maybe she oversalted it. Maybe she  _ under _ salted it. Maybe she shouldn’t be as confident as she feels; maybe it’s wrong. But Nedley is still tucking into it, eating large chunk after large chunk.  _ Definitely have his endorsement _ . Maybe that’s enough.

“I’m having trouble piecing your plate together,” Waverly says sharply, pulling Nicole’s attention back to her. “This pasta salad screams backyard barbeque, but this porkchop is…  _ Large _ . I think they’re… good, but they’re disjointed. Like two separate dishes, even if they have the pesto element in common.” She sighs. “But, each of them are tasty and well-executed,” Waverly admits. “You could have pushed the line too hard, you know. Two uses of tomatoes? Two uses of the olives? That acid or salt level of this plate could have changed this dish drastically. Somehow, you managed it well.”

Nicole doesn’t stop herself this time. She smiles, wide. “Thank you.”

Waverly shakes her head. “I still think that doing a double chop was too risky and doesn’t show enough finesse.”

Nedley scoffs. “Finesse? This has finesse coming out of its ass.” He holds up a hand at Waverly. “You might be about small portions down there, Ms. Earp, but where I’m from? Bigger is always better. The sear on this gorgeous piece of meat has finesse written all over it.” He nods sharply at Nicole. “Well done, Haught.”

Nicole swallows hard against the lump of pride in her throat. “Thank you, sir.”

Wynonna whistles. “I didn’t know you knew the word finesse, Neddybear.” 

“I’m a well-educated man, Wynonna.” He pushes his chest out. “Just not a hoity-toity one.” He looks at Waverly once more. “And I think this is a damn fine picnic lunch.”

Doc clears his throat delicately. “If I may.”

“Speaking of bigger being better…” Wynonna gestures for Doc’s hat. “Trade ya, cowboy.” She makes a  _ gimme _ motion with one hand, holding out the toy sombrero with the other. 

“Must I?” Doc’s face looks green.

“You must.” Wynonna waves the sombrero at him again, and he sighs, taking his hat off and smoothing a hand around the brim. 

Doc settles the sombrero on his head as respectably as he can, looking at Nicole and holding her gaze admirably. “I have to agree with Mr. Nedley on this one. The use of the olives in the pesto and in the pasta salad creates a brininess that lends itself to a wonderful flavor combination. Using the pesto across the two dishes creates a unity I find very pleasing.” He nods towards Waverly. “I would, however, concede that these  _ are _ two dishes. And that will need to be taken into consideration.”

Nicole doesn’t see it as a loss or a win; it puts her somewhere in the middle. She can live with that.

But when she looks back at Waverly, she pauses. Waverly is smiling softly at her, head tilted slightly. There’s a fluttery feeling in her stomach again.  _ Waverly Earp knows who I am _ . 

Wynonna ushers them back towards the hallway, but Nicole keeps looking at Waverly until she has to turn away.

-

**_The second judgment_ **

The waiting room feels too cool without the ovens pushing heat out at her, and there are goosebumps on her arms. Nicole rubs them away and takes the cold water Dolls offers her. She chugs almost half the bottle down in the first go, and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

“How’s your finger?” she asks Jeremy.

He unwraps a layer of gauze and makes a face. It’s still bleeding. Spotting, at least.

“You should let medical take another look,” Dolls says, nodding towards the PA standing at the door. “They might be able to wrap it better now that the dust has settled.”

_ Someone’s chance at winning is turning to dust _ . Nicole tries to shake the thought from her mind. She focuses on the good things instead. All three judges liked her dish. Doc and Waverly thought it was disjointed, but Nedley said it had finesse. If she makes it to the dessert round and Nedley compliments that, she’s going to devote a whole section of her menu to ‘ _ Nedley Says. _ ’ Hell, she’ll ask him to come down and promote it. 

_ Maybe. Maybe not _ .

Even though there was criticism - even though Waverly put her on the spot - they all still liked some aspect of her dish.

But the judges were hard to read this round. There was no outright flaw in anyone’s dish. Jeremy overcooked his meat, but if his other basket ingredients stood out, there was no guarantee that it means he’s out. Nedley took a second slurp of Dolls’s soup. Waverly had almost the entire bowl.

“I can’t believe I cut myself,” Jeremy moans as the medic leaves. There’s a new bandage now, a nitrile finger cover over it. He flexes it and grins. The grin quickly fades again. “He was right there. Right there! With his hat and his mustache and-”

“You like his mustache,” Nicole says, smiling. “We know.”

Jeremy runs a hand over his face, his skin blotchy. “And I  _ blew it _ . I was going to flex my culinary muscles, you know.”

“Your  _ what _ ?” Dolls asks quietly.

Jeremy ignores him. “I was going to break out the molecular gastronomy. Really knock his cowboy boots off. Instead, I might have knocked myself onto the chopping block.”

Nicole rubs his shoulder in comfort. “It might not be that bad.”

Jeremy lets out a single wail and drops his head against the table they’re sitting at. 

She almost asks Dolls how he thinks he did, but he’s sitting completely still, legs folded in a crisscross as he rests his hands on his knees. His eyes stare straight ahead, and in this light, they shine. Sparkle, even. A yellowy-green she’s only seen in Nathan’s comic books. Dragon eyes.

But that’s just plain silly.  _ If he were a dragon, he would have done a hard sear on that pork just like me _ .

Her leg starts to bounce and her fingers start to burn. She wants to pick at the skin now, just for something to do. This waiting game is going to kill her. 

_ At least I’ll die knowing that Waverly Earp knows who I am. At least I’ll die knowing Waverly likes my grilled cheese and tomato soup. At least I’ll- _

“They’ve made a decision,” the PA at the door says. 

They file back onto the set, standing at their marks. Nicole looks down again, centering herself. She can feel Waverly staring at her, and she fights looking back until she doesn’t.  _ What the hell. Why not? _ This might be the last time she stands up in front of Waverly Earp - unless she’s called back for a redemption episode. So she looks up and she holds Waverly’s gaze.

She thought it was just a TV crush. That Waverly would be awful in person - people that nice on TV have to be, don’t they? She thought seeing Waverly would bring her back to reality. She’s a human, just like everyone else. But there’s something about Waverly that’s  _ more _ than that. She smiles, and Nicole wants to smile back. She laughs, and Nicole can feel it in the pit of her stomach. She tilts her head to one side, and Nicole wants to brush her hair back behind her ear and out of her face.

_ Stop being a creep _ , she scolds herself.  _ She’ll know you’re a weirdo _ .

But Waverly is still smiling at her. Still not looking away.

It makes Nicole feel  _ brave _ . It makes her feel like she could walk up to that table and tell Waverly-

“Like a band-aid, right?” Wynonna asks.

Nicole blinks hard.

Wynonna pulls the lid of the cloche up, and Jeremy’s plate stares back at them. “Mr. Marachi band?”

Doc sighs softly. “Like I said earlier, friend. The time you lost after your injury impeded on your cooking time and your focus. Your meat was undercooked, and for that, I am sorry to say we must chop you.”

Jeremy sniffles. “Thank you  _ so much _ for having me.” He turns to Nicole and Dolls and salutes them. He starts making his way down the judge’s table, shaking Waverly’s hand and withdrawing his own when Nedley stares back at him. Nicole watches him swallow back his fear and stick a shaking hand out to Doc. She’s almost sure she sees his knees buckle when Doc grasps his hand, holding onto it.

“Thank you,” Jeremy whispers.

Doc adjusts the sombrero on his head with his free hand. “You are mighty welcome.”

Jeremy’s eyelashes flutter.

“Okay!” Wynonna says loudly. “Now that it’s awkward in here…”

Jeremy startles and takes a step back, nodding his head at Wynonna as he slips past her and down the hallway.

_ Another one down, one more to go _ .

Wynonna sizes her and Dolls up, the brim of Doc’s hat low on her forehead. “You two ready to rumble?”

-

**_Third basket: dessert round_ **

“Open your baskets,” Wynonna says. She takes off Doc’s hat as she says it, throwing it somewhere behind her. Nicole hears him whimper as he scrambles out of his seat to get it. “First ingredient. Blackberries.”

Nicole puts them down carefully, picking up one that falls out of the container. They’re fresh. She can tell just by holding them.

Wynonna isn’t slowing down. “Followed by everyone’s favorite Easter Candy, blueberry jelly beans!”

Dolls groans and Nicole makes a face. They’ll be too sweet to do anything  _ good _ with. She hates working with jelly beans on principle. 

Wynonna continues, drumming her hands on Nicole’s station as they pull out the next ingredient. “Oooo, argan oil. Keeping it nice and moisturized, huh?” 

Nicole starts thinking of ways she can use argan oil in place of olive oil. It’ll be risky; argan oil is good for bread dipping, but it’s better for skin and hair. Not that anyone at that judge's table needs a better hair product.

Waverly Earp has hair for days. 

“And finally, ground coffee.” Wynonna walks around Nicole’s station slowly, trailing a finger across Dolls’s shoulders lightly, leaning up into his ear. “I take my morning coffee with whisky, so remember that.”

Waverly sighs. “Wynonna, leave him alone.”

Wynonna winks at Dolls and circles back, leaning against the judge’s table. Nicole stares at her, her mind working overtime to try and piece these ingredients together.  _ It’s a $10,000 dollar dessert _ . If she wins, this is  _ definitely _ going on her menu.

“What’re you waiting for?” Wynonna finally says. “Your time started, like, 30 seconds ago.”

Nicole jumps.

A chocolate poke cake is the first thing that pops into her head.

She hesitates, though. Waverly’s restaurant, Homestead, does an After Dark Menu once a month, and their dessert specialty is a chocolate poke cake with chocolate ganache. Kate, the chef-owner of The Bite, a local food truck in Nicole’s neighborhood, tried it once and said it was to die for. 

_ It’s a risk _ .

But she’d rather risk it all and walk away with nothing than play it safe. So she sets her ingredients down and tries to figure out what else she needs _ , _ prioritizing her steps.

First, the cake. 

She needs to make a cake batter and get that in the oven before she does anything. She gets flour, salt, baking powder, baking soda, sugar, cocoa, and some ground coffee. She mixes them together, adding the milk and the argan oil. She adds the eggs and some vanilla, and beats the batter until it’s nice and thin. A deeper cake pan is the way to go, she’s sure of it. She pauses; it might not cook all the way through. But she takes her eyes off the clock and focuses on the dessert she’s going to make.

The dessert that’s going to win her $10,000.

And maybe Waverly Earp’s smile.

She pops the cake in the oven and turns to her blueberry jelly beans. They’re grotesquely sweet.  _ Stick to your teeth kind of sweet _ . But she can reduce them down to a sauce, mix it with macerated blackberries, and drizzle it over the poke cake. It might not be chocolate ganache but it’ll still be good.

She hopes.

She knows Dolls is next to her. Knows that he’s battling the same ingredients. But she doesn’t turn to him. She doesn’t follow his moves. He won’t set anything on fire. He won’t even cut himself. He’s too disciplined, too controlled, for anything like that. So Nicole puts her head down and focuses on her next steps.  _ Macerate the berries _ . She dumps the berries into a bowl and buries them in a sprinkle of sugar. She’ll let them sit like that until almost the end, to extract as much sweetness as she can.

“Whatcha makin’, Haught potato?”

Nicole looks at Wynonna, barely pausing as she stirs the jellybeans. “Chocolate poke cake.”

It’s like Wynonna knew the answer before she asked the question. “Ooo, boy. Did you hear that one, baby girl? A chocolate poke cake.” Wynonna grins at Nicole. “Hey, didn’t your chocolate poke cake win best in show?”

“It’s not like a dog show, Wynonna. It’s a culinary award.” Waverly sounds amused. “But, yes. It won best dessert last year at the Toronto showcase.”

“Best in show, yadda yadda ya.” Wynonna hip checks Nicole’s station, and the berries in the mixing bowl shift. “Gutsy move, Haught.”

Nicole turns back to her jellybeans and gives them another stir. 

“Taking on a judge’s dessert might cost you the game.”

“I’ve always been a good player.”

Wynonna’s eyes light up. “Have you? Because that’s not the vibe I’m getting from you. I’m getting more of a ‘in it for the long haul’ kind of feeling. And, see, I’m asking for a friend - well, sister, really and-“

“ _ Wynonna _ ,” Waverly hisses. “Shut it.”

“Consider it shut.” Wynonna closes an imaginary zipper over her lips and winks at Nicole.

Nicole glances up and catches the tail end of a blush across Waverly’s cheeks.  _ Waverly Earp knows who I am. Waverly Earp might be… interested in me? _

She can’t let it slow her down, though. She ignores the tumble of her stomach and the way her hands get a little sweaty, her fingers tripping a little as she takes a skewer out of a packet of them. She finally gets one free, and sticks it in a pot of water on the stove. There’s no way she’s going to go home because a skewer splintered and left something behind in her poke cake.

_ Whipped cream _ , her head screams. She should add a layer of homemade whipped cream to the cake, to elevate it. She runs back to the pantry and gets heavy whipping cream, powdered sugar, cocoa powder, and some vanilla extract. There’s still some ground coffee left on her station; she’ll add that into the cream. 

She can feel Waverly staring at her, watching what she’s doing. She's taking a chance, making something one of the judges is known for. It’s almost as risky as serving Scott Conant raw red onions. But she’s in this now. She’s committed. So it’s chocolate poke cake, or die. 

She starts to whip the heavy cream. It thickens up quickly, and she adds the powdered sugar, cocoa powder, and vanilla extract. She checks on the jellybeans and almost gags at the syrupy texture it’s melted down into. But it’s nearly there, and she wills it to cook down faster. The clock is winding down.

Nicole holds up the container of coffee grounds, weighing the pros and cons of using it again. If she does, she has to grind the coffee down again. Make it into a fine powder. Otherwise it’ll be grainy, and the smooth and creamy texture of her whipped cream will be gone. She uses the spice grinder until the grounds are powdery and light, almost as fine as the cocoa powder already sitting in her mixing bowl. 

Maybe it’s Waverly looking at her. Maybe it’s that she’s in the dessert round. Whatever it is, there’s a sudden burst of confidence that spreads from her belly to the tips of her fingers as she picks up a whisk. She looks up, finding Waverly’s eyes, and she stays there, whipping cream and not looking away. 

She knows she’s showing off. She knows she’s playing with fire. But Waverly Earp stares right back at her and doesn’t look away.

Her oven timer goes off and Nicole looks down. The whipped cream looks perfect. Nice, stiff peaks she can shape up. It’s the cake that matters, though. The cake has coffee grounds and argan oil, and if it doesn’t work, she’s left with good whip cream, macerated blackberries, and jellybean syrup. 

_ Two more minutes _ . The cake needs two more minutes. She pops it back into the oven and rings her hands nervously. The clock goes from six minutes to five. She’s running out of time now. Dolls is banging kitchen utensils around next to her, but she’s too afraid to look over. His dessert is probably better than hers. He’s probably more put together.

He swears under his breath, and Nicole feels a rush of hope run through her.

The timer dings again, and Nicole grabs a towel to pull the cake out of the oven. Better. Not perfect, but better. She pulls the soaking skewer out of the water and pokes it into the cake, leaving small pockets behind. The blueberry jellybeans sink into the cake, soaking through it. 

Time keeps winding down, and Nicole feels out of control. She puts whipped cream on the cake with all of the grace of putting spackle on a wall. It’s not her best job. Like culinary school all over again. She half expects her old mentor, Chef Todd, to rap her on the knuckles with a wooden spoon and tell her to try again. She ignores the voice in her head that tells her to scrap it and start over. Instead, she puts whipped cream on the other side of the cake with a little more finesse. A little more care.

When she steps back, it doesn’t look that bad.

“Two minutes.” Wynonna taps her wrist like she’s wearing a watch. “Get your head in the game. You gotta getchagetchagetchagtcha head in the game,” she sings.

Nicole sprints for the plates, picking up three different ones before she decides on a square one. A square plate, a square piece of cake. She’ll need to put it right in the center of the plate, or the balance of it will be lost. It’ll just be a piece of cake on a paper plate if she gets it wrong.

It all feels a little surreal now. She knows she’s cutting the cake using a cookie cutter. She knows she’s placing the cake in the middle of the plate, using leftover whipped cream as a way to keep it in place. She knows she’s scooping macerated blackberries out of their bowl, carefully placing them in the middle of her square of cake in the middle of her square plate. She knows she’s drizzling some of the juice left by the berries. She knows she’s wiping down the plates, carefully using tweezers to pick off any crumbs of cake. 

She knows all of these things, but when she looks down at her hands as she does them, she thinks maybe they belong to someone else.

“Ten!” Wynonna shouts.

_ Nine, eight, seven _ .

Nicole thinks about dusting the top of the cake with the coffee grounds.

_ Six, five, four _ .

There’s no way she’ll get them on all of the dishes.

_ Three, two, one _ .

Wynonna puts two fingers in her mouth and whistles. “That’s all she wrote.”

Nicole sags, suddenly exhausted. She can feel Dolls do the same.

“Hey, we did it.” She offers him a hand, smiling tiredly when he takes it.

He smiles, something she hasn’t seen him do before. It looks good on his face. “Man, I could use a beer.”

Nicole snorts. “How about we meet for one, when this is over.”

Dolls smiles a little wider. “I’m in if you’re in.”

She gives his hand one last squeeze. “In like Flynn.”

Wynonna clears her throat. “If you two are done building this budding bromance, do you think you could take your places in front of the judges?”

Dolls drops her hand suddenly, the cool look back on his face instantly. Nicole can see a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth, now that she knows what to look for. He nods sharply at Wynonna and starts around the station. She follows his lead, swallowing as her chef’s jacket goes tight around her throat. 

This is it. This is her final statement.

It all comes down to blueberry jellybeans.

The mark on the floor is blue this time. Nicole stands on it, bounding up on the tips of her toes. The judges look serious now. Even Wynonna is standing still for a moment. She’s not winking at Dolls or flipping her hair over her shoulder.

Nicole is almost sure she’s going to throw up now.

Wynonna takes a deep breath. “Chef Iron Cheeks?” She drops her voice to a loud whisper. “Cheeks is referring to-“

“We know what it means, Wynonna.” Waverly rolls her eyes. “Sorry, Chef Dolls. Wynonna is one step away from a sexual harassment suit at all times.” She glares at Wynonna for a moment. “What she’s trying to say is, why don’t you tell us what you made.”

If Nicole looks hard enough, she thinks she might be able to see a faint blush at the tips of Dolls’s cheeks. He clears his throat, his shoulders jumping up and down as he steels himself.

“What I’ve made for you is a ground coffee bread pudding with a blackberries compote.” He gestures to the ramekin in front of the judges. “There is a blueberry jellybean glaze on it as well.”

Waverly looks up first. “And the argan oil?”

“I used it inside the bread pudding.” Dolls makes himself taller, his shoulders straight.

Nedley hums something and takes a large bite. “Not bad,” he says, his mouth full. “Wasn’t sure about this blueberry glaze but it’s not terrible.”

Wynonna opens her mouth, but Nedley keeps talking. 

“For the record, I’m a fan of jellybeans. My daughter hides the big container every year.”

Nicole met Chrissy Nedley years ago, at a restaurant opening. She seemed like a no-nonsense person, telling the owner, Stephanie Jones,  _ exactly _ where she would be useful. Nicole can see where she gets it from.

Wynonna fires an imaginary gun at Doc. “Holliyay, what about you?”

“Oh, I do love a bread pudding.” Doc takes a second bite. “I was unsure as to the marriage of the ground coffee and the blackberries. Wynonna is always making me try those fruity coffees they sell at the shops, and I refuse on principle.  _ However _ . This is mighty fine bread pudding.”

Nicole can see the way the compliment hits Dolls. The way it settles and makes him seem lighter.

Waverly sighs softly. “I want you to know that this is good.”

Dolls’s confidence flickers.

“But it's a little wet for my tastes,” Waverly admits. “Almost like the bottoms didn’t cook enough.”

Dolls looks away. “I was worried about that,” he says, quiet enough for only Nicole to hear.

“And the argan oil gives the bread a different texture than I’m used to.” Waverly scoops another spoonful out of the ramekin, taking a small bite. “But I agree with Doc and Nedley. The ground coffee flavor and the blackberries is just enough of a mix of tart and bitter, cut by the sweetness of the blueberry.” She smiles wider now. “It’s not too sweet. You really found the perfect balance between all of these potentially pungent flavors.”

Nicole swallows heavily. They loved it. They loved Dolls’s dessert and that’s it. She’s done for.

“Hard to Haught-dle.” Wynonna frowns. “No, I didn’t like that, either. Haughtsauce, what’s cookin’?”

Nicole tries to shake the dread slowly forming in the center of her chest. She wants to have done a different dessert. She wants to not be here. Maybe the ground will swallow her whole. Maybe Lonnie will come back wielding a knife, avenging his use of truffle oil, and she’ll get caught in the crosshairs. Maybe even defending Nedley’s life.

She’d definitely get a menu endorsement that way.

“Earth to Hauuught,” Wynonna sings. “Most important dessert of your life. And,  _ go _ .”

Nicole clears her throat. “I made for you a chocolate poke cake with a chocolate and coffee whipped cream and blackberries on top.”

“Give it to her, baby girl,” Wynonna whispers, looking at Waverly.

Waverly doesn’t even stick a fork into it. “You know a chocolate poke cake won me Best Dessert in Toronto last year.”

Nicole nods, her head jerking up and down. “My friend Kate tried it. She said it was one of the best cakes she’s had.”

Waverly smiles softly at that. “Well, tell her I said thank you.” She spears a piece of cake, getting a berry on the top of her bite. Nicole can see the blueberry sauce on the plate, oozing out from the cake.  _ Perfect _ . It’s what she wanted.

“So you know that I’m going to be highly critical of your poke cake, then.” Nicole nods. “It took me years to get it right, you know. Ratios, filling. There are some small differences between our poke cakes, but not many.”

No, Nicole knew that. She knew they used the same cake and that Waverly uses a chocolate whipped cream. And she still went ahead and did it anyway.  _ Arrogant, stupid, compulsive _ -

Waverly takes a bite and Nicole holds her breath.

“If anything, it’s almost too sweet,” she finally says. “You should have added something to offset the jellybeans. Something to reduce it down so it doesn’t feel like you’re eating corn syrup straight from the bottle.” She looks down the line of judges. “No offense, Nedley.”

Nedley offers a rare smile. “None taken, Waverly.”

“The cake itself is nearly perfect.” Waverly takes another bite. “And it was a good decision, grounding that coffee even more. It adds flavor to the whipped cream without also adding that graininess.” She sighs. “Overall, a good dish.”

“Thank you,” Nicole breathes.

“Do you make a lot of poke cake?”

Nicole shakes her head. “This might be the second time in my life,” she admits.

She pointedly avoids Waverly’s face and pretends she didn’t hear the gasp Waverly let out.

“I am delighted you gave us a cake,” Doc says, taking over. He’s already a few bites into his piece. “And that you have not been making this regularly is a test to your abilities, I believe, as a chef. Thinking on your feet. Good intuition. Excellent, really.” Doc takes another bite.

The dread starts to ebb away slowly. Even if Waverly was critical, she admitted she liked the cake. And Doc has eaten nearly all of his. Nedley looks her up and down, and Nicole holds her breath, swallowing so hard she’s sure she’ll choke on her tongue.

“It’s good,” he says.

“Can I quote you on that, sir?” Nicole’s eyes widen a little as she realizes that she’s said that out loud.

Nedley lets out a loud huff that sounds almost like a laugh. “Yes. Yes you can.”

Nicole grins back at him. “Thank you, sir.”

Wynonna looks between them. “Well, get a move on. The judges have to gossip about you.” She shoos them away.

Waverly clears her throat loudly, and Nicole and Dolls stop. She almost runs into Dolls’s back. 

“Right, right.” Wynonna nods down the line of judges. “All of the rounds are up for grabs. So those fails you thought you left behind in the appetizer or main course round? Oh, they’re back, baby.  _ Now _ skedaddle.”

It’s the longest walk of her life.

-

**_The final judgment_ **

“Haught,” Dolls says sharply, getting her attention. “What’re you thinking about?”

“Waverly Earp, smiling at me from the judge’s table,” she says, staring off into the distance. 

She freezes when she realizes what she said, looking away when Dolls tries to catch her eye. “I mean, the blueberry jellybeans were kind of a curveball, weren’t they?”

Dolls continues to stare at her. “No, they weren’t.”

Nicole laughs nervously. “Right. Of course.”

Dolls sighs. “You’re kind of a mess. You know that, right?”

“God, don’t I know it.” Nicole picks up a water bottle. Twists the top off. She hands him a second bottle. He taps his bottle against hers and they both take a long, long sip. “I’m serious, you know. About getting a drink.”

Dolls smiles. Genuinely, this time. “After you get Waverly’s number.”

“After  _ you _ escape Wynonna.”

Dolls’s cheeks flush again. 

“Ooooor, after you get Wynonna’s number?”

Dolls doesn’t look at her now, taking another long sip from his water bottle. “So,” he finally says. “How do you think you did?”

Nicole groans instantly. “Oh,  _ god _ . Terrible. I would do so, so many things differently. What about you?”

“I’m going to have nightmares about wontons for the rest of my life.” Dolls sighs wistfully. “I served Randy Nedley a  _ single _ wonton.”

Nicole snorts. “That was a pretty rookie move.”

“Says the woman who just made a chocolate poke cake because the woman she has a crush on makes the best one in Toronto.”

Nicole winces at that. “I didn’t do it because of that.”

“Really?”

“Not  _ just _ because of that,” she grumbles.

Dolls grins wider. “Haught mess, huh?”

Nicole finishes the rest of her water. Her hands aren’t shaking as badly anymore. She can breathe again. But her mind is churning things over and over. Bologna cake. Sombrero pasta. Blueberry jellybeans. She’s going to have nightmares about them. 

Even if she has three new menu items. 

But then she starts to think that even if she didn’t win, she kind of did. She used to tell Nathan that the people who said that on camera, that they walked away without the money but still as winners, were idiots.  _ They didn’t  _ actually _ win anything _ . But she’s going to go home and tell him she was wrong. That even in this room, waiting for the final decision, she still feels like she won something.

She’s not sure what it is, or how to name it, but she knows it's there.

“We really got all the way to the dessert round, didn’t we?” She runs a hand through her hair.

“Yeah, we did.” Dolls finishes his water and tosses it to the recycle basket in the corner of the room. “Winner buys the first round, though. Deal?” He holds out his hand.

Nicole reaches for it and nods. “Deal.”

A PA pops his head into the room. “They’re ready for you.”

Nicole takes a deep breath.  _ This is it _ . This is the make or break. This is where she either becomes a winner or a-

“Haught,” Dolls hisses from the doorway. “Let’s go.”

Nicole follows behind him, her feet clumsy. If walking down the hallway after the round was long, this trip takes no time at all. They turn the corner too soon and she’s on her marker too soon and she’s looking at the judge’s table and it’s all too soon.

The stage lights are too bright. Waverly’s smile is even brighter.

Wynonna is still jarring, clapping her hands together loudly enough that everyone winces. Nedley doesn’t even flinch. “This is the moneymaker, folks. Time to make it or break it. This is the end of the line. Move it or-”

“We get the point, Earp.” Nedley wrinkles his nose. “There’s a game on in an hour, so can we get to it?”

Wynonna salutes him. “Right on, Nedley.” She drums her fingers on the judge’s table as she turns back to Nicole and Dolls. “So, the winner.”

_ Too fast, too fast, too fast _ . All of Jeremy’s blood and the sweat and Lonnie’s tears have come down to a single second. A probably-inappropriate quip and a simple lift of a cloche.

All that stands between her and $10,000, between her and Nathan’s new uniforms and getting some brand new, state-of-the-art kitchen supplies, is Wynonna’s hand on that buffed silver lid. She touches Nathan’s note in the pocket of her apron.  _ For good luck _ .

“Alright losers, here we go.” Wynonna shimmies her shoulders. She starts to lift the lid. “And the person who has been chopped is…”

There’s a small ramekin of ground coffee bread pudding with a blackberry compote on the plate. 

_ I did it. I actually did it.  _

“Judges?”

Doc takes the lead. “The bottom of your bread puddings just were not cooked through, I’m afraid. In the appetizer round, your portion was too small, though tasty. In the main course, your pork ramen bowl was mighty delicious, but ultimately? You were just out-cooked, friend. And for those reasons, we had to chop you,” he says kindly.

_ I did it.  _

Waverly signals for his attention. “You should know, Chef, that what you did here was incredible. That pork ramen bowl should go on your menu. And  _ when  _ you take ownership of Black Badge, I hope to be able to get a reservation and see it there.”

_ I actually did it. _

Dolls clears his throat, his mouth working around his words. “Thank you, ma’am.” He nods, the movement jerky and unsure. “I’ll make sure you have a table available.”

Waverly smiles kindly. “I appreciate it.”

Dolls turns to her, offering his hand. He grins widely. It catches Nicole off-guard so much that she almost doesn’t notice the card pressed against her palm. “First drink is on you.” He looks quickly to the right, towards the judge’s table. “But maybe we give it a couple of days. Let things…  _ settle _ .”

“Settle yourself,” she murmurs. She’s smiling, too. 

Dolls shakes the judges’ hands one at a time, glancing at Nicole when Wynonna walks her fingers up his arm and over the muscles of his shoulder. She fights a laugh, rubbing her hand down her face instead, hiding it. She watches as he starts to take the long walk back down the hallway. 

_ I’m the winner _ . 

“Which means, Haught-to- trot,  _ you _ are the  _ Chopped _ champion.”

Nicole tries to speak, but she can’t. She sinks into a crouch. “Hot damn,” she whispers. 

Wynonna cackles. “Haught damn.”

“What’re you going to do with the money?” Nedley asks. 

Nicole stands back up. She pulls Nathan’s note from her apron and rubs the paper between her finger and thumb. “My nephew’s baseball team needs new uniforms. And-  _ God _ , I’m going to get, like, a cappuccino machine, and a Vitamix blender, and a new set of knives from Wüsthof and, and a  _ ton _ of things I could never afford before this.”

“They’ve got a good steak knife I like,” Nedley says. 

Nicole lets out a thin, steady stream of air.  _ I actually won _ . 

She moves to the judge’s table. Shakes Nedley’s hand. She thinks about asking him for his endorsement, just for a moment, but she decides not to. She wants to hold onto his praise, just for herself.  _ People will find out when the episode airs.  _ She can keep this for herself for now. She shakes Doc’s hand, and if he tells her how much he likes her dessert, she doesn’t hear him. 

Waverly stretches out her hand and Nicole takes it slowly. 

“Thank you,” Nicole breathes. 

Waverly smiles. She tips her head to one side. “Why’re you thanking me? You made the food.”

_ I won. _

“You judged it.” The words sound stale in her mouth. She winces. 

“I voted against you, you know,” Waverly says casually, still holding her hand. “Your chocolate poke cake was mediocre at best.”

Something snaps loose in her chest. Something like courage. Nicole rolls her eyes. “No, it wasn’t.”

“Hey, hotpants,” Wynonna calls. She waves away Nicole’s glance. “Not you. I’m talking to Dark Chocolate over there. Red Vines are more Waverly’s thing.”

“ _ Wynonna _ ,” Waverly hisses.

Wynonna winks and slips around the judge’s table, grabbing the string of Dolls’s apron when she gets close enough.

Nicole lets her hand slide out from Waverly’s. “So, you were saying something untrue about my poke cake?”

Waverly shakes her head. “Your dessert left a little something to be desired.” She pauses, biting down on her bottom lip. “But what about your breakfast?”

Nicole reaches out. Brushes her thumb across Waverly’s knuckles. “I do a breakfast hash with andouille sausage. Robin, the butcher in my neighborhood, makes it fresh each morning.”

“I do mine with carnitas. I usually add some of Wynonna’s leftover tequila.” Waverly looks up at Nicole through her lashes. “We could always compare notes.”

“I could make you mine,” Nicole offers. “You can see what you’re missing out on.”

Waverly’s smile widens. “How about tomorrow?”

“Breakfast.”

“Tomorrow.”

Nicole smiles back. “What’re we going to do until then?”

“Bone!” Wynonna shouts from the hallway. She’s got one arm looped through Dolls’s, leaning into his side. “I mean, if you’re asking me, I-”

“We weren’t,” Waverly says. She’s still looking at Nicole. “But maybe we can start with dinner.”

“And then breakfast,” Nicole reminds her.

“And then breakfast.”


End file.
